Conqueror’s Moon: Part One of the Boreal Moon Tale. Julian May

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      She swept off down the hall with Rusgann lumbering after. ‘That’s telling the nervy cow!’ the tirewoman said, smothering giggles. ‘So she waited for hours, poor thing. And you’ve only been traveling and tending a sick man for three perishing weeks!’

      ‘Leave be, Rusgann,’ the princess said with an irritable gesture. ‘I’m too tired to be angry.’

      A sly grin. ‘You’ll soon have sweet revenge on her and the others, if all goes as we hope.’

      ‘We can’t be certain yet. I’ve only missed two courses. This has happened to me before, with no good outcome.’

      ‘But this time there’s a glow about you, my lady, even though you’re dead tired. And the morning qualmishness—’

      ‘I intend to wait until there’s no possible doubt before telling my husband. You will continue to do my laundry and act as my personal maid as well.’

      The tirewoman beamed. ‘It’ll be my pleasure.’

      ‘I won’t need you tonight, however. You’re as weary as I am. My other attendants have lazed away while I was gone. Let them earn their salt. Tell Lady Sovanna, my chief lady-in-waiting, to find a nice place for you to live, close to my chambers. Be sure it’s to your liking and don’t let her fob you off with some airless closet. Take care of yourself, Rusgann, and sleep well. We’ll discuss your new duties in the morning.’

      They came into the elaborate suite of rooms belonging to the Prince Heritor, his wife, and their intimate servants. Lady Sovanna Ironside, the two vapid young noblewomen who assisted her, and a covey of maidservants hastened to attend the princess, and soon Maudrayne was enjoying a long bath before the fire in her own large sitting room.

      Like Truary, Sovanna was eager to know what Bazekoy’s oracle had said, and openly annoyed when the princess said she knew nothing about it and curtly refused to discuss details of the journey. The chief lady-in-waiting was a middle-aged woman of great efficiency, appointed by the queen. She pretended a maternal devotion to Maudrayne but had too often borne the brunt of the princess’s fiery temper and offhand thoughtlessness to be loyal — much less a confidante.

      It’s going to be interesting, Maudrayne thought, to see how Sovanna reacts to the promotion of Rusgann. Well — at least I no longer have to worry about the old bitch inspecting my smallclothes and giving the queen monthly fertility reports!

      The princess sipped warmed brandywine and ate a bowl of green egg-and-cheese soup while her women dried and combed her hair, rubbed her swollen feet with rose-scented oil, and dressed her in a cream-colored nightdress of heavy silk and a matching quilted robe edged with swansdown.

      Later, made mellow by the spirits and light meal and happy to be clean and comfortable again, Maudrayne began to reconsider her decision not to tell Conrig of her secret. They hadn’t seen each other in over two moons, what with the pilgrimage and his own earlier long sojourn at the hunting lodge; and they had parted in a cool humor — she indignant that this year they would not shoot waterfowl and hunt together at Lake Brent, and he adamant that she would not accompany him to the lodge, but refusing to give good reason why.

      From a single private conversation with the king during the return journey, Maudrayne now knew something of what Conrig had been up to in the north country. Unlike Olmigon, she had been well aware that her husband intended to pursue the interrupted press for Sovereignty, whether the king gave his consent or not. And if Conrig was headed off to fight against Didion, he deserved to know that she was expecting a child.

      ‘Sovanna, is my lord husband in his bedchamber?’ It was not the Cathran custom for married royals to share sleeping quarters.

      ‘I think not, Your Grace,’ said the lady-in-waiting, refilling the princess’s crystal cup with Golden Alembic brandy once again, while giving a grimace of disapproval. Maudrayne, like all Tarnian women, could drink most Cathran men under the table and be none the worse the morning after. ‘He was occupied with affairs of state all evening before you arrived. I know he hoped to visit the King’s Grace as soon as possible to pay his respects, and he’s also called for an extraordinary meeting of the Privy Council.’ She smirked knowingly. ‘That caused a bit of a stir, I heard. Several of the councilors thought they should wait for the king’s approval. But even the reluctant ones finally decided to heed the prince’s wish — for fear of missing some juicy bit of news about the oracle.’

      The other women were gathering up used towels and bathing sundries, while four footmen had come to lift the tub onto a wheeled platform, and were now endeavoring to remove it from the sitting room without spilling water on the fine Incayo carpet.

      ‘Very well,’ the princess said. ‘You may all leave me now. Quench the lights save for the hour-marker.’

      They bowed and did as she bade and trooped out, closing the door. Maudrayne locked it, then went to a writing table where an elaborately carved little casket stood, gleaming in the lone candleflame. It was made of precious sea-unicorn ivory, fashioned by the Tarnian crafters of Havoc Bay in the far north. When one pressed certain prominent parts in the correct manner, its lid sprang open. Inside was Maudrayne’s diary.

      So many days now to catch up on! But she had not dared to bring the small book along on the pilgrimage. All of her hopes and fears and joys and rages were contained in it, and she intended that no one else should read it until she was dead. She leafed back through the pages, confirming the date of her last womanly course. It was as she’d thought: two moons and more ago. And she had suffered the morning malaise, tender breasts, and swollen feet, and experienced that unaccountable undercurrent of happiness so at odds with the grim tenor of her life of late. Oldwives of Tarn had told her what that meant.

      I will let Conrig know, she decided, replacing the diary. I’ll wait for him in his chamber and tell him this very night. She sat quietly for some time in the dimness, savoring the rest of the fine brandy. Then she rose from her armchair and went into her dark bedchamber, and thence to the door connecting her apartment with that of her husband. It was locked, and that was unusual; but years ago she had had the key copied, and so she fetched it now, opened the door, and stepped over the threshold.

      His sleeping chamber was much larger than her own, with a splendid canopied bed in the middle. Wainscot-faced walls were painted dark crimson above, with touches of white and gold in the moldings. The candle-sconces were also gold, but none of the tapers in them were lit, so that the painted landscapes and tapestries on the walls were engulfed in shadows. The only illumination came from the fireplace, where glowing coals crackled before a backlog, from a slightly open door leading to the prince’s sitting room, and from the tall windows. Their draperies had not yet been drawn, so that the lamps on the palace battlements and towers were visible, as well as those in the great city below Cala Hill. Beyond was the black sea, where tiny sparks marked ships at their moorings out in Blenholme Roads.

      It was cold in Conrig’s room, and an unfamiliar fragrance lingered in the air. Was it vetiver? How odd! He was as fond of perfumes as most Cathran men, but his usual preference was for bergamot, oakmoss, or clary sage.

      Maudrayne might have waited for her husband in his bed; but she recalled happier days when they had lain together by the fire in his wide, padded longchair that stood on a hearth-rug of pieced otterskin. Two throws of black mink lay folded neatly on the floor beside the chair to warm the prince when he sat up late, reading or thinking. She shook out both of them to make herself a nest of soft furs.

      I’ll surprise him, she thought, as she snuggled deeply into the chair. Smiling, she fell asleep watching the embers.

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